My Boyfriend Sold Me to Bellandi—Too Bad I Was Bellandi’s Heiress Chapter 02

My Boyfriend Sold Me to Bellandi—Too Bad I Was Bellandi’s Heiress Chapter 02

“What did you just say?” The softness drained from Ethan’s face.

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back. “Elena, think really carefully about what comes out of your mouth next.”

Pain tore through my scalp, but I bit down hard. “I said no.”

“You’re kidnapping me. I’ll call the cops.”

He slapped me. Open palm, full force, right across the face.

My vision went white. A high-pitched ringing swallowed my hearing, and the taste of copper flooded my mouth.

“You don’t know when you’ve got it good!”

Ethan’s jaw clenched so hard I could see the muscle jump. “Who do you think you are? You’re a dancer. A nobody. Settling my marker should be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

His mother kicked me in the ribs for good measure.

“Not the face!” Ethan’s father hissed from behind them. “We can’t offer her up if you ruin her face!”

Ethan let go. I curled up on the cold floor, dragging air into my lungs.

“Elena.” He crouched down and gripped my chin. “I’m asking you one last time.”

“Are you going to fall in line?”

I looked him dead in the eye. “Not. A. Chance.”

“Fine.” Ethan’s mouth twisted. He rose slowly. “Fine.”

“You’re a dancer, right? Didn’t you say you wanted to make prima ballerina? For Mommy’s dying wish?”

He brought his heel down on my calf.

I screamed.

The pain was blinding, white-hot, everywhere.

“How are you gonna dance with a shattered shin?”

He ground his heel in deeper. “Your mom’s dying wish was to see you on the Grandcrest stage, wasn’t it?”

“Be a real shame if that never happens.”

Every nerve in my body went cold.

My mother had been one of the best ballet dancers in the country before illness took her at the height of her career. I’d been training since I could walk, carrying the dream she never got to finish.

“No.” The word shook on its way out.

“Don’t touch me…”

“Oh, so now you’re scared?” Ethan’s mother sneered.

“What happened to all that attitude?”

Ethan lifted his foot and crouched back down.

“Then shut up and do what you’re told. When the Boss gets here, you smile and behave.”

“Clear my marker, and I’ll still marry you. Nothing has to change.”

I shut my eyes. The tears came anyway.

“There we go,” Ethan’s mother said, satisfied. “Now clean her up. She can’t meet the Don looking like that.”

Ethan yanked me to my feet and dragged me toward the bathroom just off the foyer.

I fought him.

“Shut up!” He shoved me through the door.

“Your makeup’s trashed. You look like a corpse.”

He grabbed my hair and forced my face under the faucet. Ice-cold water hit me, and I gasped, shaking as mascara and foundation streamed down the drain.

He pumped hand soap right onto my face. I gagged, choking.

“Stop—”

“Gotta get you nice and clean for the Don.”

“You really do look just like her.” He was talking more to himself than to me now. “That’s the only reason I ever picked you out. That face.”

Something inside me went still.

So that was what this had always been.

The last three years. Every single day of it had been a long con.

He rinsed the soap off and scrubbed my skin dry with a rough towel.

Then his hands went for my clothes.

“What are you—” I jerked away from him.

I crossed my arms over my chest, heart slamming.

“You’re too covered up,” he said, like he was appraising livestock.

He pulled a low-cut black dress from the bag he’d brought. “Put this on.”

“No!”

“No?” His voice dropped.

Something shifted behind his eyes.

“Then don’t complain when I do it for you.”

He ripped my coat open, buttons scattering.

I screamed, thrashing, and he backhanded me across the mouth.

“Hold still!”

A knock rattled the bathroom door.

His mother’s voice cut through from the other side. “Ethan, hurry up! The Don’s men are here!”

Ethan froze, then shot me a look that promised this wasn’t over. “Lucky you.”

He dragged me back out and shoved me to the floor.

The door opened.

Three enforcers in black suits walked in. The one in front looked to be in his early thirties — scar down one cheek, dead eyes.

“The Don’s on his way.” He looked down at me. “She ready?”

“She’s ready, she’s ready!” Ethan’s father scrambled forward, all smiles. “Mr. Rossi, look at her. The resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it?”

Marco Rossi closed the distance and crouched in front of me, studying my face like he was appraising merchandise. My pulse hammered.

Was this the Marco my uncle had mentioned? He’d only brought him up once — said the guy had been running with the Family for a few months, ruthless but still new. New enough not to know everyone in the syndicate.

I was screwed. There was no way he’d recognize me.